


Clueless (aka Comic Sans Can Save Your Life)

by roguesgallery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ex-Military Ben Solo, F/M, Food as Recovery, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-01-12 11:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguesgallery/pseuds/roguesgallery
Summary: Going straight from your family home to the military left you lacking certain life skills. Sure, you could disassemble and reassemble an M40 in under a minute, run a marathon with 40lbs of gear on your back or stay motionless for hours waiting for the perfect shot, but living on base or in theatre meant someone was always telling you what to do with your time, when to sleep, when to eat. You may be trained to kill, but other than heating up an MRE or ordering take out, you had the culinary skills of a five year old.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All my thanks to Ash for the beta and hand-holding. I am not American so if I make any US Military mistakes let me know.

 

_Going straight from your family home to the military left you lacking certain life skills. Sure, you could disassemble and reassemble an M40 in under a minute, run a marathon with 40lbs of gear on your back or stay motionless for hours waiting for the perfect shot, but living on base or in theatre meant someone was always telling you what to do with your time, when to sleep, when to eat. You may be trained to kill, but other than heating up an MRE or ordering take out, you had the culinary skills of a five year old._

_Since leaving the military you have been doing the bare minimum of living, as if you are scared of really trying. If you try, you can fail._

_Still, you are a 30 year old man. Who was living on cereal and protein shakes. It was probably time to learn a few new tricks._

 

* * *

 

Ben Solo walked into the used book store with ten dollars in his pocket and no idea where to start. The store seems to be arranged in a fashion that would take a working knowledge of runes or drowsing to understand. Which meant asking a human where the cookbooks were. In general, Ben didn’t like people. Sure, his fellow recon marines were his brothers (Semper Fi!), but like his biological family, that didn’t mean he had to _like_ them.

The girl at the desk was mostly hidden behind a Bob Villa Home Repair book from the 80’s.

“Excuse me?” She startled. This was obviously not a high traffic store. She dropped the book.

She was beautiful.

She had freckles and clear hazel eyes. Her hair was pulled back in a utilitarian bun. She reminded him of warm weather. Not the brutal pounding of the desert sun on his back, but the warmth that made green things grow.

“Yes?” He was staring. He knew he was staring. He should probably talk.

“Cookbook.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like a cookbook. For beginners.”

“Oh. They are at the back.” She nimbly sidestepped a tower of romance novels and gestured for him to follow her. The tightly packed bookcases made Ben feel like a giant. He squeezed himself through as carefully as he could, pretending it was a training exercise. Trip over the pile of Goosebumps, trigger an IED.

It was probably not a good sign that imagining the bookstore triggered with explosives actually calmed his racing heart. But learning to cook was first on the agenda. Therapy was not.

“Here!” She shouted with glee. Ben managed to suppress the urge to go for his non-existent side arm. It was just that the bookstore was so quiet, the books muffling any sound from the street outside. Ben had learned not to trust silence.

Maybe therapy should go up higher on the list.

The cookbooks filled two shelves, under the Self Help section (four shelves) and above the gardening (three shelves and multiple piles). The first shelf was filled with glossy hardcover books which had obviously never been used. He was going to follow the original owner’s lead and ignore them totally. A handful seemed to only contain jelly molds or tips on fondue. There was one well-loved one with an unidentifiable stain on the spine. Clueless in the Kitchen, it read in Comic Sans. He pulled it out, the pretty girl watching silently. The subtitle was “A Cookbook for Teens.”. Oh joy. Still, overestimating a skill set had never helped anyone.

“I’ll take this one.” He handed it to her, daring her to comment. She took it solemnly, but her eyes sparkled.

She lead him back through the maze. “It’s marked $8, but that’s way too much for its condition. I’ll give it to you for $4.”

He nodded silently, giving her his crumbled ten dollar bill. He tried not to stare at the line of her neck as she made change, but hell, it was the first time in so long that he had looked at someone and thought softness and beauty instead all the possible ways to disarm her if she was wearing a vest. That seems like progress.

She handed him the book and his change. Their fingers didn’t touch. He appreciated that. This outing had already gone better than 95% of his stateside interaction, so he didn’t want to ruin it by freaking out. Or crying.

She smiled at him as he left and he carried that with him through the day, her wide, toothy smile and freckled cheeks. It didn’t help that night when the nightmares came, but nothing did.

 

* * *

 

Ben woke every morning at 5:30. He probably would for the rest of his life. He woke with a start that would make any drill sergeant proud, leaping out of bed with the first moment of consciousness. He pissed, dressed, slammed down a protein shake and was out the door, running shoes on, before fifteen minutes had passed. When he first got out, he had tried to laze in bed, telling himself he deserved it after over a decade of getting up at the butt crack of dawn. It was torture. His body wanted to move and when he didn’t let it, his mind turned against him, replaying that last week of active duty; Snoke’s men laughing, the blood and the controlled fury that had washed over him. Before that day, he had been a soldier, not a murderer. Now he wasn’t sure anymore.

So he ran.

After his shower he was determined to make something, anything from the cookbook. He had eggs. He put them in his shakes sometimes. He opened the book to the chapter titled “Breakfast - A Cruel Joke”. He hadn’t noticed when he bought it, but there were notes in a messy scribble all throughout the book. He looked at the inside cover. Rey Johnson, it said. He wondered if Rey had been some new college student away from his mom’s cooking for the first time. Ben wasn’t sure if Leia had ever cooked. Too busy with work and her foundations. Maybe he should send her a copy. He snorted. Okay, eggs. Most of the recipes involved butter. Shit. Boiled egg it is. He took a small saucepan out of the cupboard (thank god he found a place that was furnished. He was pretty sure an Ikea trip would end the cursed Solo-Skywalker-Organa line for good), filled it with cold water until the egg was completely covered. He turned on the stovetop. And waited for the water to boil.

And waited.

And waited.

The cookbook said fifteen minutes for a hard-boiled egg. He should have set a timer. When he had estimated fifteen minutes had gone by he carefully removed the egg with a slotted spoon. He remembered being a child in the vast house in upstate New York. There had been special cups just for hard boiled eggs with chicks and other farm animals decorating the rim. Another sign of his “dick-suck elite uppercrust, colonial mastubatory upbringing” like his Gunner used to say.

The egg still tasted good with a little salt and pepper. Small victories, right?

 

* * *

 

One civilian task a day, that was the plan. Yesterday was buying the book. Today was so much worse: the grocery store.

Take out only required interaction with one person. Cereal, eggs, milk and coffee could be bought at the corner store where the drugged out teenager manning the cash at 2:30am could hardly be counted as a sentient being. The grocery store meant cashiers, parents with kids, harsh fluorescent lights and choices. Way too many fucking choices.

He waited until 9pm. The store closed at 10. He figured the staff would be too concerned with closing up to bother him and all the kiddies would be in bed. A grocery store at 9 at night must be lone weirdos like himself. At least he hoped.

He got tripped up in the produce aisle. The produce aisle looked like heaven. He couldn’t remember the last time he had bitten into fresh fruit. But the prices were ridiculous. Or were they? He had no freaking clue. Was $5.99 a good price for raspberries?

“Hey.”

It was her. She was wearing jeans that were ripped at the knee. They didn’t look “distressed”. They looked worn. She had a basket hooked on one elbow and the store’s flyer in her other hand. “Need some help?”

He ran his hand over his head, still surprised to feel actual hair instead of the fuzz of a buzzcut. Being able to let his hair grow was one of his top three things he liked the best about ex-military life. Her smile might be number one.

“How could you tell?”

“You’ve been looking at those raspberries for five minutes.”

“Ah.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “So, help?”

“Uh, yes. Please.”

She nodded decisively. “Okay, first the raspberries. Don’t buy those. They are crazy expensive and not in season. Not even in,” she looked at the packaging, “Mexico. They will taste like sour water with seeds.” She moved over to the next bin. “Now, cherries. They will be fantastic right now.” She grabbed a bag for herself and one for him. She looked critically at the strawberries advertised at $3.99 a pint. She shook her head. “Give them another week or two. It was a long winter.” She grabbed a bunch of asparagus. “Store these in a half-full jug of water. They will last longer. You are pretty much always safe with potatoes. And apples. Except in the height of summer, but that’s peach season, so why would you be eating apples?”

She steered him out of the produce aisle. “Beans are your best friend if you are on budget. Filling, cheap, last forever.”

“How did you learn all this?”

She gave him a tight smile, utterly unlike the the toothy grins he had seen before. “Self-taught. What do you want to make for dinner?”

“Uh, I was thinking meatloaf?”

“Have you made meatloaf before?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then let's start with something easier - tacos or spaghetti?”

“Spaghetti?”

She took him to the ground beef. “The leaner the meat, the more expensive. And you look like you’ll use the extra energy.” She coughed and looked away. “So don’t worry about extra lean. Lean or medium will do.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“A friend of mine told me how awful grocery shopping was when he got out. He lived off ramen for weeks. The possibility of scurvy was real. He said he was this close,” she pinched her slim fingers together, leaving only a hair’s width between them, “to ordering MREs off the internet.”

“How did you know I was military?” She gave him an unimpressed look.

“It was that or prison and I swear I can hear the unspoken ‘ma’am’ everytime you talk to me.”

Ben reddened. She wasn’t wrong.

She put a can of spaghetti sauce in the cart. “Don’t worry about making the sauce yet. Bought sauce is fine, if sweet, until you figure out the pasta/ground beef thing. Asparagus on the side and you are set.” She looked at him solemnly. “Always, always make enough for leftovers.”

He nodded, smiling at her seriousness. Her eyes were so bright.

“Excuse me?” Some guy with a cart full of rotini gave them a glare. They were blocking the whole aisle.

“Sorry!” She jumped aside. Ben returned the guy’s glare over her head.

“I think you are set!”

“Thanks… uh-” But she was already half way down the aisle.

“Oh,” she called back, “grab an onion and a garlic bulb before you go to check out. That and butter will make any meal better.”

 

* * *

 

Ben made himself spaghetti when he got home. He sipped on a cold beer as he browned the meat. Following the girl’s instructions, made from food she picked out, made him feel like she was there with him, giving him silent encouragement. Thinking about her made everything taste better, sharper. He took his overflowing plate outside, sitting at the dilapidated patio set left by the last renter. It was cool and dark, lit only by the moon and a dull bulb that was attached just under the roof’s overhang. The smell of garlic, beef and onions mixed in with the salty sea breeze coming off the Atlantic. He couldn’t see the ocean from where he lived, but if he closed his eyes he could almost hear the lapping of the waves.

He went to bed with a full belly. It didn’t feel great when he heaved it back up after a nightmare involving Hux’s insides darkening the desert sand, but nothing did.

 

* * *

 

Cape May Point, New Jersey was a dry town. It did not advertise this on the goddamn brochure. Luckily, Cape May was decidedly not. Ben needed a beer if he was going to contemplate Wanted Ads for the first time in his adult life.

The military tried to sell recruits on all the on the job training they would get. All those transferable skills. It was bullshit. The military was a machine and the only thing it prepared you for was to be a cog in it. Even as a Recon Marine, he was just a very expensive, highly trained cog. How many jobs need you to be able to hold your breath for seven minutes? Though he had heard more than one of his brothers successfully use that skill as a pick-up line.

He walked into The Ugly Mug Bar & Grill with the local newspaper under one arm (were there even want ads in the paper anymore?) and the urge to drink until he blotted out the words “cover letter” from his mind.

And there she was, behind the bar. Why was he even surprised?

He took a seat at the bar. “How many jobs do you have?”

She turned to him, a pleased smile on her face. “This week? Three. But today I’m just covering for my friend Rose.” She tapped her name tag which did indeed say Rose in block letters. “Most locals have to double or triple up during the off season.”

Ben obviously did not hide his dismay well enough. “Oh shit,” she said, those pretty eyes widening. “You’re looking? It’s not a great time, but I can ask around.”

He grimaced. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Any special skills?”

For one mad moment he thought about sharing the tidbit about his lung capacity. He refrained. “I’m pretty good with machines, cars, boats. Good swimmer. Diver. Have some basic medic training.”

“You do know that you are less than three miles away from the Coast Guard training center, right?”

He gritted his teeth. “I am aware.” Ben could sign up for the Coast Guard. He had been honorably discharged, though if his mother hadn’t been a sitting senator, it wouldn’t have been such an amicable divorce. It’s hard for him to feel guilt. He had done a lot worse before with a lot less reasons. Those Praetorian guys weren’t soldiers, they were paid killers with a pretentious name. They deserved what they got and if Snoke had been there in one of his five thousand dollar suits, Ben would given him the same treatment with a song in his heart. No, Ben didn’t feel guilt even if they had technically been his allies. “Independent contractors” was such a nice term for mercenary. Still, the US military had put Praetorian in an active war, paying them more than the enlisted, and making them answerable to no one but Snoke. The Coast Guard was an arm of the US military and that meant taking orders again. Possibly even being deployed. Ben was just rediscovering his moral compass after surrendering all his choices to the Navy for over a decade. He couldn’t see himself giving it up so cheaply again.

She put up her hands, a wet bar cloth in one. “I’m just saying. Here.” She put a pint in front of him, ice cold with just the right amount of foam. “On me.”

“A one-woman welcoming community?”

“Sure.” Was she blushing? She pulled a pint for another day drinker. The few, the proud, the “it’s five o’clock somewhere” crew.

“Order’s up!” Someone called from the back. She grabbed a small green apron with a notebook stuffed in one of the pockets. She had to wrap the ties around her tiny waist twice. She picked up the tray with practiced ease, arms lean, but strong. When she moved out from behind the bar he saw the small black shorts that must have been part of her uniform. Or her friend’s? No one would wear shorts voluntarily during an East Coast April, tips be damned. Maybe her friend was shorter than her? The shorts were on the edge of obscene. It didn’t seem like that kind of bar. And she had a fantastic ass.

Ben immediately looked away. Paper, time for the paper.

 

* * *

 

Ben woke up at 5:30. With a hard on. That wasn’t that unusual. His libido was… functional. He got off like other men pissed. It was part of taking care of his body. He fed it, exercised, jerked off, showered, went to bed. His body was one of the few things in this world he could rely on. He took care of it and it kept him going. Whether it was basic training, running that extra mile, heaving a kneecapped marine over his shoulder, his body rarely let him down. That said, it didn’t give him much pleasure. His spaghetti and beer had given him more pleasure than getting off had in a long time.

But this morning was different. He _wanted_ to touch himself. He wanted to think about _her_ , her smile, her ass, how his hands would look around that tiny waist. He wanted to touch himself and think about the possibility that she might be touching herself, thinking about him. Those delicate hands brushing her nipples, teasing herself. Rubbing her wetness around her clit before crooking two fingers inside of herself, imagining they were him. Making pretty noises, breathing in little gasps.

He came embarrassingly fast, getting come everwhere. He felt so relaxed, he was boneless.

When he woke the second time it was 6:20 and his come had dried uncomfortably on his abdomen. The adrenaline was back, forcing him out of bed and into the shower immediately. Still, he kept the memory of the morning; sinking into the bed, breathing heavy and deep, thinking of her pretty flushed face.

 

* * *

 

Ben worked steadily through Clueless in the Kitchen. He skipped some recipes (what was he going to do with a full turkey?) and made others multiple times. His meatballs and chili were getting good. He even made some meals that didn’t contain red meat. He enjoyed Rey’s scribbles. There was a note that recommended doubling or tripling the pancake recipe. He followed his advice and got a shit ton of pancakes out of it. Rey must have had someone to share them with. A girl to impress, maybe? Ben could remember Han telling him that all guys should be able to make one really great breakfast dish. Solo charm to get them in bed, a killer omelet to get them to stay. Leia had rolled her eyes but the next morning Han brought her breakfast in bed. It was a good memory. They had felt like a family that morning, no staff, no aides. Ben put the extras pancakes in the fridge and ate them cold with jam. He remembered his old nanny, Ceecee, was British and ate pancakes with jam. The next one… what had been her name? She ate them with icing sugar, not syrup. Ben had been a defiant child with a sweet tooth. He would smothered them with real maple syrup, pouring and pouring until his plate was disgusting even to him. It had been one of many tests he had devised to see how long it would take someone to notice him.

The day circled in his calendar came closer and closer.

“Open House” may be the only words more terrifying than “cover letter”, but Ben made himself go. Atlantic Cape Community College may not be Yale, but it was something. There was still a remnant of the teenager he had been that rebelled against doing anything his mother approved of. He ignored it. If he wanted a different future than a vet making do on odd jobs, he needed more than his GED.

There was an air traffic controller program. Nursing. Casino training. He could not think of three jobs he was worse suited for. Lots of online options. Tempting, but he refused to become a Luke-style hermit. And then an Academy of Culinary Arts. With a familiar figure in torn jeans, a ponytail gathering up her shiny brown hair, standing in front of the cheery display. This time he wasn’t even surprised, just embarrassed. His fantasy of her felt too close to the skin still, like she would be able to see his desire. More than that, see his longing for her to want him back. That was the thought that truly brought him to climax, that this beautiful girl had seen something, anything, in him that she liked.

“Hey!” She spotted him and her eyes lit up. He felt a shiver up his spine. Oh god, he was not ready for this. He cleared his throat and desperately wished for a pair of sunglasses. “Are you looking into this program?”

“You do remember the title of the book you sold me, right? I just learned to make refried beans.”

“Did you enjoy making them?” Her eyes made it impossible to lie.

“Yes.”

She shrugged. “There you are then.”

“What about you?”

She looked wistfully across the gymnasium. “I want to be a pilot. Helicopters. I’m doing a couple of the general education credits online. Chipping away.”

Ben had looked at the requirements for the pilot program. Chipping away would take a decade. It was a 60 credit program. Ben immediately thought about the untouched savings account accumulating interest in the Bank of Manhattan. Or the Falcon, sitting in his mom’s garage. It was easy to be noble (stupid?) with decent savings and the GI Bill covering his tution. He didn’t even know the details of accessing the account. Did he just show up with his driver’s license? He was going to have to ask his mother. Fuck.

“Hey, are you okay?” She put out her hand as if to touch his arm and then retracted it. “Sorry. I don’t know if you like to be touched.” The spectre of PTSD crowded around both of them.

He pressed his lips together. “It’s okay.” _If it's you_ , went unspoken, but he could have sworn she heard it anyways.

She looked immeasurably pleased. Her lips turned up, her cheeks went red. He was mesmerized. “Good.”

“Good,” he repeated. God, it felt like she had breathed the word against the sensitive skin of his neck, despite them standing a respectable distance apart.

She wiped her hands on her jeans. Did he make her nervous? “I’m Rey, by the way.” She stuck out her hand decisively. He shook it. It was warm and small in his huge paw. He could feel calluses on her palm. He couldn’t remember the last time he touched someone. It felt electric and comforting at the same time.

“Ben.”

She was Rey. _His_ Rey. Of course she was. She had told him when to use less salt, add more cooking time, shred the veggies instead of cube them. She had been with him for weeks as he tried out recipe after recipe, holding his hand as he had tried to piece together some sort of person out of the mess he had created. She had been with him every day. He had to force himself to let go of her hand.

It be weird to ask her to move in with him, right? Right. Probably.

For dinner he made meatloaf. It was a little dry, but he could fix that. He had brussel sprouts on the side, lightly charred, seasoned with lemon, olive oil and garlic. They tasted better than candy.

That night he did not dream.

END PART ONE


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention of an attempted drugging of an OC female character at a bar. If you want to skip that part it takes place at Ben's bar job from this line "He liked it, it felt like home....." and ends before "Ben couldn’t stop looking at Rey.".

As the weather warmed up, Rey mentioned gazpacho was a summer favorite of hers. He made a tub’s worth. He even bought tupperware. There was nothing romantic about gazpacho, right? It was cold soup. It didn’t expect anything.

He chickened out and ate gazpacho for a week. The damn soup got better every day as the garlic infused the vegetables. It was taunting him.

He kept visiting her at the Ugly Mug. He couldn’t stay away. They had made her permanent for the summer. She even had her own name tag now. Thankfully, the patrons at the bar stayed mostly locals, even once the tourists descended. She always inquired about his cooking plans. He always asked about her online courses. Everytime he went in, he promised himself he was going to ask her over for dinner. Everytime he lost the courage.

She got him a job as a bouncer at one of the local clubs. He hated it, but it paid alright. Rey seemed to know everyone, even though she had only lived in Cape May for two years. She didn’t talk about her life before that. Neither did he. It was like they both had been born the day they moved to this oceanside town. It was a relief and a form of torture. He wanted to know _everything_ about her.

Rey and Rose would sometimes head over to the club after The Ugly Mug’s kitchen closed. It was one of those places which couldn’t decide if it was a bar or a dance club, so sort of failed at both. Still, the beer was cheap and Wednesday’s were a ridiculously popular 80s night. Ben glowered, checked IDs and got drunk girls into cabs. He tried not to watch Rey dance, even if she was still wearing her shorts from work. Ben felt old and tired when she and Rose sang along to songs he had never heard by bands he didn’t know.

She hustled at pool sometimes. There was always a cocky college boy or two who thought they could “teach” her. She decimated them with style and Ben tried not to get too turned on.

On busy nights, when the club had reached capacity, he would get dragged behind the bar to pour beer and jager shots. Some of the girls put back shots like Marines on shore leave and would get right in his face if he cut them off. He learned some new anatomical terms, which was impressive, considering he had done more than a decade surrounded by soldiers. Jersey girls were _mean_. He liked it, it felt like home.

One of the regulars, a girl named Janice, who was 5’2 in spiked heels and had once called him a sperm who had made a wrong turn when he cut her off on her birthday, left her G&T on the bar when Lizzo came on, screeching at her girls to join her on the dance floor. A guy who had been hanging with a pack of dudebros all night slipped something in her drink. Ben saw red. A beer bottle was in his hand and he fucking leapt over the bar, ready to carve date rapist into the guy’s face.

Rey got there first. She swung her pool cue at the guy’s knees with a sickening crack and he crumbled to the floor like the dried-up piece of shit he was.

Of course, he had friends.

Fighting alongside Rey was fucking heaven. She had the most beautiful snarl on her face, and when one guy tried to grab her by the ponytail, she broke his nose. Ben smashed two guys’ heads together and grinned at her. The manager broke it up by spraying the whole lot of them with club soda straight from the tap.

Janice was more than happy to press charges (and to kick her would-be attacker in the spleen with her spiked heels) and the manager thanked Ben for spotting the guy and also told him he could pick up his last check on Friday.

Ben couldn’t stop looking at Rey. Her face was flushed red and there was a bruise forming on her upper arm. She was explaining what had happened to a cop with lots of hand gestures and a scowl on her face. She was practically bouncing on her toes, she had so much energy. For the first time, he thought maybe this could work. Maybe this could actually be something. If Rey had that rage in her, if she could understand that in him, maybe they could…

Then another cop ran in and enveloped Rey in a hug. He was handsome, latino and looked Ben’s age, if not a little older. He kissed her on forehead.

Ben’s hope emptied out of him, leaving nothing in its place. Just nothing.

The guy strode over to him, arm still slung over Rey’s shoulder. “Thanks man,” he said, right arm outstretched. Ben shook it, on autopilot. “Ben, right? I’m Poe. Thanks for backing up our girl here.” Rey smiled tightly at him. “I’m going to take her home. But you should come over some time. We aren’t very good cooks, but we can order pizza with the best of them, right Rey?” Rey nodded. “Let’s get you out of here. Thanks again, Ben.”

Ben went home. No job, an empty apartment. Not even the dream of Rey.

But doing nothing wasn’t Ben’s style. Neither was mooning over a twenty-one-year-old girl who had a live-in boyfriend and who was only being nice to him because it was her job.

So, if he couldn’t climb the hill of asking a pretty girl out for a date, then he’d be a goddamn Marine and climb a fucking mountain.

He called his mother.

 

* * *

 

Ben had a plan. It was better that Rey had someone. It made everything cleaner. He could do something good and not worry that he was trying to take advantage or trying to control her. He could just give, for once in his life.

 

* * *

 

Ben gave himself a week to get his feelings squared away. He would give himself a week to wallow like the ‘teenage girl’ Phasma had always said he was, and then he would go back to his normal routine. He didn’t last four days. Turns out having a friend was something he had gotten used to. Rey gave him the sweetest smile when he returned to his stool at the Ugly Mug.

Ben now had the beginnings of a cookbook collection: The Joy of Cooking, The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook, The Way to Cook by Julia Child. None of them could help now. If he wanted to convince his mother to go along with his plan, then he would need to up his game, Jewish mother style.

Rey found him the perfect book: Mimi Sheraton’s From My Mother’s Kitchen. It was from 1977 and out of print. Just looking at the cover made the memory of matzo ball soup fill his mouth.

Ben planned out the dinner like a military campaign. There was no room for error. First: materials. He bought three briskets. He found a cast iron pan that looked older than the US at a flea market. He thought about inviting Rey to the market with him. He knew her love of a bargain. He didn’t, of course. Instead, he cooked. The first one he over-seasoned. The second he over-cooked. Rey’s friend Finn, was glad to take them off his hands, regardless of their imperfections. He ran a support group for vets. Ben knew from personal experience that most of their taste buds had been killed by food meant to survive nuclear winter. He made Finn promise to not tell him if anyone put ketchup on the brisket. He also made him promise not to let Rey have any. She seemed put out until he gruffly told her it wasn’t good enough yet.

The third - the third was good. He had made the broth himself with bones left over from last week’s roast chicken. The gravy was rich. The roasted carrots, potatoes and brussel sprouts weren’t mushy. The wine was heavily stocked.

He was as prepared as he could be, yet it was still a shock to see his mother at his door.

It wasn’t like they had never seen each other in the past decade or so. She had visited him in the hospital when he got out. Maybe it was because his home in Cape May was the first home he had ever had that wasn’t either built around her or in opposition to her.

She wore a grey linen dress, with a soft-looking summer shawl. Her hair was done up in the elaborate braids that he recognized as her battle armour. She didn’t look nervous, but Leia Organa never did.

“Benjamin.” Her voice had an ex-smoker’s roughness. He wondered if she still stole a smoke when the press wasn’t looking.

“Leia.” He could see her swallow a retort. Picking her battles. “Please come in.”

She gave his place the once over. The only personal items of his in the furnished apartment all had to do with cooking: The full spice rack, the stack of dirty pots and pans. He had the beginnings of a herb garden in the window sill. The brisket was already on the table, loosely covered with foil to keep the heat in. “Is that brisket?”

“Yes.”

“You made it yourself?”

“I did.”

“Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Am I dying?”

“Sit down and eat the damn brisket.” Leia snorted, but she did sit down. He lifted the foil and cut his mother a slice from the middle, where it would be the most tender. She helped herself to the vegetables and a healthy amount of red wine.

She took a bite. Her steely eyes got a shine on them. He looked away and concentrated on cutting small pieces of meat and chewing. He could not longer tell if it was any good.

They ate without talking, just stealing glances at each other like they were trying to anticipate any sudden movements. Ben had more relaxing meals while being actively bombed.

Finally, Leia lay down her knife and fork, perfectly parallel. “That was lovely. Thank you. What do you want?”

Ben fought a smile. His mother was easy to love, too easy. He had fought long and hard to resist the pull of her - to please her, to emulate her. Maybe he was done fighting. Maybe he could learn to like his mother. He certainly appreciated her directness.

“I want to do something with the money from Grandfather.”

Leia kept her face deliberately placid. “You don’t need me to do that. It’s your money.”

“I want to start a scholarship. A very specific scholarship.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“A scholarship for pilots. Female pilots. And I want one awarded to Rey Johnson.”

Now, the eyebrow went up. “And who is Rey Johnson?”

“A good person. A person that needs a little help.”

Leia’s made a “hrumpf” noise. “And how many scholarships in total?”

He hadn’t thought of that. “Enough so it doesn’t look...” He trailed off.

“Like you are creating a scholarship just to give money to a girl you are in love with?”

Ben didn’t answer. There was no answer. If it would be weird to ask Rey to move in with him without ever going on a date, if would definitely be weird to offer to pay for forty-grand-a-year tuition, right? He didn’t want her to owe him anything. He didn’t even want her to know he was involved.

Leia sighed. “You know before your Grandfather was… well, what he was.”

“A war criminal?”

“Yes. He was a pilot. A great pilot. A hero even. I have never been able to forgive him, not like Luke. But I know he wasn’t fully a monster. Not always.” Ben nodded. The history books had been kind to Anakin Skywalker, but the family knew the truth.

“Is that your way of saying you’ll help me set it up?”

She folded her hands in front of her. “Under certain conditions. One, this girl of yours applies like everyone else. If she makes the cut, great, if she doesn’t, the scholarships still happen.”

“She’ll make it.” Of that, Ben had no fear.

“Two, you name it after your grandmother. If the times had allowed it, I have no doubt she would have been a fine pilot. Or anything else she had wanted to be.”

It was Ben’s turn to feel a little burn behind his eyes. “I think that’s a good idea. Thank you.”

“Third, you invite your father over for dinner.”

“Mom.” Shit. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

“That’s a lie and you know it. So, do you agree?”

He did.

 

* * *

 

His Mother worked fast. He didn’t know how she got a scholarship committee up and running before the new school year, but she did. Throwing large amounts of cash around probably helped.

Rey’s eyes were shining when she showed him the application. “They sent it out to the whole mailing list. You should have read the “what about guys” replies. I replied to all with an article about how only 7% of pilot certificates are held by women and only 4.4% of airline pilots are women in the US. The UK is just as bad. They were just like “What about Amilyn Holdo?” Like one successful woman erases the stats. It’s good though. If any of them are in my classes, I know to steer clear.”

Ben, who did know the stats (Leia said being an anonymous benefactor did not get him out of doing his homework), nodded and took a drink of his beer.

“It’s named after this woman, Padme Skywalker. A lot people thought she’d be the first female senator from New York, but then she refused to testify at the House of Unamerican Activities. Got branded a Communist. Which reddit said was often code for jewish and not wanting to like, eat the poor.”

Ben snorted. “Sounds right.”

“Anyways, she sounds cool. I have no idea what she has to do with aviation but I’ll take it.”

Rey took the opportunity of a slow Tuesday to start on the application. “Shit. They want a personal essay.”

“Is that a problem?”

She shrugged. “I’ve applied for scholarship before. They all want you to drag out your sob story. It’s like a game of who is more underprivileged. I don’t like playing.”

“So don’t.”

“My high school guidance counselor would disagree with you.”

“You want to be a pilot, right? That’s your dream, your future. Write about that. Fuck the past.”

Rey examined his face. He felt like she was seeing more than he wanted to reveal.

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll be writing this every spare moment from now to the deadline. Hello, red bull and pop tarts.”

Ben made a face.

Rey drew herself up with dignity. “Are you judging my cramming diet?” He raised his eyebrows. She leaned over the bar, “You could fix that. You are always cooking for everyone but me.”

“I didn’t want to subject you to my earlier efforts.”

“So, you will? You’ll cook for me?”

Ben nodded. Rey was still giving him that stare, like she could read everything on his face. He felt like he was agreeing to something more serious than just providing some study fodder.

He left soon after. He had some baking to do.

 

* * *

 

Ben baked her zucchini bread. She had once said her favorite foods where ones you could pretend were healthy, but were really pure sugar in disguise. “Like a muffin,” she said. “It’s really a cupcake without icing. It’s just incognito enough that you can buy one whenever you want. But you and I know I’m really eating cake for breakfast.” He added chocolate chips. Walnuts for protein.

The delivery method, that was tricky. How masochistic did he want to be? She had given him her address, but did he really want to see her home with Poe? The way their belongings and lives were wrapped up in each other? Still, he wanted to see where she lived. He wanted to see the Reyness of it. What books she owned, what colours she painted the walls. Did she have plants? Artwork? Was she happy there?

Ben wanted to know it all so badly that he knew it would be a disaster. A stone-face was an intrinsic part of being a marine, but he had never quite mastered it. His eyes gave away the game. He wished it was socially acceptable to wear sunglasses inside.

He left the 9 x 12 tray with Rose when he knew Rey was off shift.

 

* * *

 

Ben was elbow deep in butternut squash when the banging on his door started. Ben was a 6’3 former Marine, so he wasn’t as conscientious as he should be about locking the door. Which this intruder discovered very quickly.

It was Rey.

Her hair was up in three buns. She had no makeup on. He was pretty sure she was wearing pyjama pants. And she was extremely red in the face. She was also carrying an empty 9 x 12 pan. She threw it at him. He almost caught it, but his squash-slimy hands caused him to fumble. It made quite the noise when it crashed to the floor. This derailed Rey for a moment, but he could see her shake off the need to apologize.

“You!”

“Me?”

“You! You are infuriating!”

“Uh, how so?”

Rey paced around his dining room. “No talking! None of this,” she waved her hands at him, the kitchen. The squash. “I’m talking.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, so I have like, a thousand imaginary scenarios about my parents with a thousand more totally reasonable excuses why they would leave me at a Tesco station when I was five. Because that’s what you do when you are a kid. Imagine they are spies or royalty on the run and they did it for my own safety and one day they will come back for me and I’ll never be alone again.”

“You are not alone.” The words tore themselves out of Ben’s throat, but he had to say them.

“Argh! This is exactly what I’m talking about!”

“You’ve lost me.”

“This! Saying exactly what I have been waiting to hear my whole life! I never imagined someone for me, you know? I have a couple great friends and a roof over my head and hunger doesn’t keep me up at night anymore, so I thought I was good, great even. But if I had imagined someone for myself, he would look at me the way you look at me! And he would have those arms and he would cook and,” she stopped her pacing and looked out the glass sliding doors to his backyard. “Is that a herb garden? Oh my fucking god.” She threw up her hands in despair. “And he would be fucked up, so I didn’t have to pretend not to have major issues and like, smile all the time. But his mess would fit with my mess, you know?”

Ben nodded silently. The squash guts were starting to harden and itch, but he didn’t dare move.

“And he would care for me, little things that would let me know he listened when I talked, and big things too. But not as big as starting a scholarship, mind you, which we will have words about, loud words, and I would like his mom, which I totally do, and you should call your father, by the way, you promised. And why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Ben felt a wave of relief through his whole body. “Can I wash my hands first?”

“I guess.”

He cleaned his hands methodically, using a scrub brush to get in the nail beds. The water was cold and clean.

Rey waited.

He walked over to her slowly and took her face, her beautiful face, in between his palms. “I am fucked up.”

“I know.” She stilled under his touch, nervous energy flowing out of her.

“I’ll always find it easier to do something instead of telling you how I feel.”

“Will that something be cooking? Because I am happy to eat your feelings.”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“But no more secret money bullshit schemes that I can easily unravel using google?”

He should have known. “No more bullshit schemes.”

“Will you pack me lunches for school that will make all the other students jealous?”

He nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

“Will you make me a brisket? Finn said it was the best thing he ever put in his mouth and Poe got super jealous-”

Ben kissed her.

She sighed happily and reached up to tangle her hands in his hair. They were slow, sleepy kisses. He ran his hands up and down her slim back. She nuzzled him under his chin. “I’m going to bite your ears later. And possibly your ass. I have plans.”

He laughed. “It’s good to have a plan of action.” She nodded, head against his chest. Rey leaned more and more weight on him, until he realized she was dead on her feet.

He kissed her forehead. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know. What day is it?” Her eyes barely opened.

“You got your application in?”

She nodded.

He picked her up under the arms and legs and carried her to the bedroom. He pulled off her shoes and gently took the elastics out of her hair. She awoke enough to pull on his shirt, trying to tug him on to the bed with her.

He kissed her knuckles. “I’m going to finish making dinner and put it in the fridge. We can eat it after your nap.”

She mumbled appreciatively and let go of his shirt.

Ben finished up the casserole and covered it with saran wrap and placed it in the fridge. He hemmed and hawed about joining Rey on the bed, but he figured someone who told you they wanted to bite your ass would probably be okay with sharing a bed fully dressed. It was only 8 PM, but he couldn’t imagine trying to focus on anything but the woman in his bed.

Ben hadn’t napped since childhood, but if Rey was there, that’s where he wanted to be.

He stripping down to his undershirt and boxers and got under the sheets. She was snoring slightly and curled up, facing away from him. He stared at the strands of her brown hair on his pillow. He matched his breathing to hers. Sleep came easily.

 

* * *

 

“Can I touch you?”

Ben woke with a start. Rey was as far away as she could be from him and still be on the bed. The only light came from the streetlamps outside.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to touch you without warning.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah. Finn once almost broke Poe’s nose when they were first dating. Now they have a system.”

“Yeah?”

“I think it involves footsies with a slow progression upwards. I didn’t ask for details.”

“Smart.”

“So? Can I touch you?”

Ben closed his eyes. “Please.”

Rey smoothed a hand over his chest. Petting him. He immediately began to get hard. She cupped his growing erection. “Look at you,” she sounded pleased. “I’ve been thinking about this.”

He squeezed his eyes tighter with pleasure. He could only bear the intimacy of her touch if he kept his eyes closed.

She tugged on his boxers. He lifted his hips to help her get them off. “Shirt too,” she said. He threw it across the room without looking.

He could hear her removing her own clothes. She shuffled over, swinging one leg over his hips. He groaned. She was already wet against his abdomen. She rocked against him, her breath catching. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he hissed. She leaned forward, her nipples brushing against his chest.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

She writhed against him, rubbing her breasts and cunt on him. “Can I rub against you until I come?”

“Yes. Please,” he whispered.

“I want your weight on me.” She tugged on his shoulder, laying back against the bed. He followed her blindly.

“Fuck,” she breathed. “God, this is just what I wanted.” He rolled his hips against her, taking some of his weight on to his elbows.

This hadn’t been one of his fantasies, but somehow, it was just want he wanted too. Their whole bodies pressed together, nothing but touch. She was so warm, so welcoming.

Rey’s breathing started to hitch. He had to open his eyes for this. Her fingers dug hard into his back and he stopped thrusting, holding still and giving her the pressure she needed. Her head was rolling back and forth as she licked her lips. “So close,” she whispered. He leaned more weight on one elbow and pinched her nipple. Soft at first, but as her moans increased, harder. She was squirming against him and he stayed as steady as he could. God, it was like she was using him to masturbate and it was the hottest goddamn thing he had seen in his life. Her eyes were closed now, but his had adjusted to the darkness. Her cheeks were red and her lips bitten.

“Put something in me. I need it.” He rolled to one side, leg still slung over hers, pulling her legs apart. He stroked his palm over her breast bone and concave stomach and cupped her cunt in his hand, two fingers slipping inside easily. His thumb rolled over her clit until she grabbed his hand, pressing it tightly against her and came.

She was lying there, smiling sleepily as two tugs at his cock made him spill messily on her hip. He got up to get a warm cloth, cleaned them both and let her drape herself over him to sleep again.

 

* * *

 

They ended up eating the casserole for breakfast. Well, brunch.

 

* * *

 

Rey didn’t so much move in as never leave. It may have been unhealthy, but it was them. They both had no idea how to date casually and Rey worked so much that they’d never seen each other if they lived separately. This was all a cover, of course, for how desperate each of them were for proof that the other would stay. Every belonging that migrated from the place she shared with Finn and Poe felt like a victory. Ben got a jon working in the Ugly Mug's kitchen. Turns out a restaurant kitchen's was not unlike the military - full of fucked up vulgar misfits with a strict hierarchy who got really pissed off if you touched their knives. Ben liked it. Leia said she would help them figure out what to do with the rest of Grandfather’s dirty money (Rey was thinking something involving foster kids), if they set aside some of it for therapy. For both of them. Ben still woke up from nightmares, Rey counted their canned goods when she was anxious and neither of them could feel comfortable without a fully packed go bag at all times. They agreed.

 

* * *

 

Ben watched the steaks nervously. Sweet potatoes covered in foil sat on the top shelf of the grill.

“A little help here?” Rey was trying to open the front door while carrying a 24 pack of Bud and two bags of groceries. “Does your Dad really drink this stuff?”

“The worst tasting the beer, the better he likes it. Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was just to embarrass my mom at parties.” He took the beer from her and kicked the door closed.

“Okay, well, I got some scotch too. Poe said it is a belated housewarming gift. I think he is trying to bribe us for leftovers.”

“He was roommates with you for two years. Doesn’t he know you never leave leftovers?”

“Damn straight.” She kissed him on the cheek. He swerved so he could get her mouth. She tasted like coffee and Rey. He liked it.

She pulled away from him reluctantly. “The groceries bags are cutting off circulation to my fingers.”

“That’s only because you fill them too much.”

Rey made a face at him and heaved the bags on to the kitchen counter. She started taking out the fresh produce.

“Do you ever feel like you are playing pretend? Like you have this idea of how to be an adult that came from TV and you are just following along. Like, oh, I’m supposed to be having opinions on light fixtures now.”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“Less now.”

“Me too.”

They smiled at each other.

The door bell rung. Rey and Ben simultaneously seized up with anxiety. “Hide the scotch,” Rey whispered. “We are going to need it later.”

Ben nodded and hid it behind a half-dozen different types of cooking oil. He wiped his hands on the apron and then removed it, placing it carefully on the hook by the fridge. Rey had installed that hook.

He took a deep breath. Rey squeezed his arm. He opened the door. “Hi, Dad.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is for [House Swolo's Feed My Thirst Collection and Cookbook](https://houseswolo.tumblr.com/post/184521018438/house-swolo-is-celebrating-april-as-the-month-of). My husband's wonderful zucchini bread recipe will be in the cookbook (along with art) which will be on sale in June. All proceeds with go to Adam Driver's charity [Arts in the Armed Forces](https://aitaf.org). All the fanfic will be for free on AO3. Submissions are open for art, recipes and stories until May 20th!
> 
> Ps. Rey's stats for women pilots in the US and UK are from the Centre of Aviation and they are depressing. Read more [here](https://centreforaviation.com/analysis/reports/women-airline-pilots-a-tiny-percentage-and-only-growing-slowly-432247).
> 
> PPS. Comments are a writer's food!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are better than Ben Solo made Pancakes!


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